controlled possession
HOW DO I DO THIS? BY KELSEA BALLERINI
My eyes flutter open slowly, like I’m waking up from a dream. My body feels deliciously sore, and yet also, so incredibly rested.
The apartment is quiet. Golden sunlight filters through the curtains. I look to my right and he’s still here.
Fast asleep, legs tangled with mine. We’re a mess of bare skin and twisted linen.
His brown hair is tousled, lips slightly parted. He looks so much younger when he sleeps, so unguarded and untouched by life.
I like it.
And I like him here.
And that freaks me the fuck out.
I breathe in slowly and try to push out of the bed without disturbing him. He shifts a little, but doesn’t wake up. I grab a clean pair of underwear and tug his T-shirt over my head, the scent of him clinging to the cotton.
I take one more glance at him and head into the kitchen. The floor is cold under my bare feet, and the uneven wood creaks with every step.
Coffee first. That’s a necessity, especially if I want to have any kind of rational thought about this.
I can’t even really make him breakfast because I have almost nothing in the apartment. I’ve been living off takeout and the bare essentials since I got here. Luke keeps telling me I live like a raccoon.
As the kitchen fills with the smell of brewing coffee, I lean over the counter and stare out the front window, still trying to wrap my head around what happened last night.
It really happened. The evidence is naked and asleep in my bed.
My mind races, trying to cobble together a plan of action. I know we need to talk about this, but I don’t know where to start.
I hear the soft creak of the bedroom door opening. I don’t even need to turn around. I can feel him there.
“Thief,” he says, his voice gravelly from sleep but playful.
I glance over my shoulder and nearly drop my coffee. He’s leaning up against the doorframe in nothing but his jeans, barefoot, with hair even messier than before. And the way he looks at me wearing his shirt? Fuck.
“Morning,” I mutter, my brain short-circuiting. “I—”
“That shirt looks good on you,” he says, eyes raking over me hungrily.
“Coffee?” I pivot the conversation and hand him a mug.
“Thanks.”
I set my mug down on the table and sink into a chair, taking a deep breath to steel myself. “Oliver, we need to talk about this.”
He nods and sits down across from me. “Okay.” He smiles at me like he didn’t kiss the life out of me last night and shatter all my rules.
He leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head like he’s still waking up, but I think he’s doing it on purpose.
I can’t focus when his abs are on display like that.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I mutter, flustered.
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve seen me naked.”
“But I have seen you naked,” he says, voice laced with amusement. “And I liked seeing you naked.”
I glance up at him, my voice finally locked in and serious. “I broke a rule last night, Oliver.”
“We did,” he corrects me, unbothered.
“Fine. We did.”
His smirk fades. “Are you saying you regret it?”
“No, no,” I say quickly, waving my hands. “That’s the thing. I liked it.”
His eyes meet mine and he smiles softly. “Me too.”
“I don’t know what to do here,” I say with a shrug. “This is complicated, Oliver.”
“I know,” he says quietly, like he thinks I’m about to end whatever this is.
I don’t say anything for a moment. I just let the thought sit on the tip of my tongue while I decide if I like the taste of it. “You’re the captain, Oliver. I’m the PR.”
“I’m well aware.”
“Would you let me finish?” I say, smiling playfully.
Oliver falls silent, though I can see the questions behind his eyes.
I draw in a breath. “What I’m saying is… we both have our roles. We’re already walking a tightrope with the team and the film crew around. If we keep doing this, we need to be careful.”
His eyes lift with a glimmer of hope. “You want to keep doing this?”
I laugh once, mostly at myself.
“I think we've both established that pretending there isn't something here isn't working.”
He nods slowly. “What do you suggest?”
“No one can know. Not the coaches. Not the team. Not Matt. We have to keep this quiet.”
“And what is this?”
“I’m here until the end of the season, Oliver. That was always the plan.”
“I know.”
“I can't sit here and pretend this is leading somewhere,” I say softly. “I can't promise you more than that. I can't promise you a future. I don't know what my life looks like after May.”
I force a smile that feels a little sad around the edges.
“But I also can't ignore this anymore. I can't ignore you. This is the offer on the table.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then his eyes flick to mine. “Alright. End of the season.”
I shrug helplessly.
“I know it's not much.”
“It's you,” he says immediately.
My heart stumbles.
“Oliver—”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Don't do that. Don't apologize for giving me what you can.”
“Okay,” I murmur, because the tenderness in his voice almost undoes me. “And remember, we need to keep this a secret.”
“Right,” he says with a crooked smile. “Just us. Just… this.”
“Just this,” I repeat, ignoring the way something tugs inside my chest. I stand, heading over to the counter to refill my mug.
I feel him move behind me. He stands up against me, slipping his hands around my waist, lips warm as he nuzzles my neck.
This is going to be anything but simple.
“What are you doing?” I laugh, but it’s shaky. I turn to face him. “We just agreed on ground rules, remember?”
“I remember,” he says, voice low as he plants a kiss near my collarbone. “But I also agreed to make the most of the time we’ve got.” The next thing I know, he’s hoisted me up onto the kitchen counter, hands sliding under the shirt I stole. “Starting now.”
My legs wrap around him, and we crash into each other, full of heat and need.
The coffee goes cold. But I don’t care.